


Team Players

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Avengers baseball au, M/M, Pain, Secret Relationship, hints of a D/s and sadomasochistic relationship, mild violence, vaseline as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve was done in the fifth inning, but he was too stubborn to let his relief step in. Now he's hurt and Bucky's pissed enough to punish him for it in the clubhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team Players

**Title:**  Team Players  
 **Author:**  bactaqueen  
 **Rating:**  E  
 **Warnings:**  Vaseline as lube, secret relationship, mild violence, pain, hints of a D/s and sadomasochistic relationship, probably consensual dub-con?  
 **Setting:**  Avengers baseball team AU  
 **Pairing:**  Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers  
 **Disclaimer:**  This is a work of fiction. Marvel characters are copyright their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.  
 **Summary:**  Steve was done in the fifth inning, but he was too stubborn to let his relief step in. Now he's hurt and Bucky's pissed enough to punish him for it in the clubhouse.  
 **Author's Note:**  This is probably the first in a series following Steve and Bucky and their first season in the major leagues, but if it's not, it's fine as a standalone.

 

Steve blinks against the darkness inside the clubhouse. His teammates flow around him, jubilant with the win. Sam bumps into him from behind, shoulder to shoulder, jostling Steve's elbow. He has to bite back a yelp of pain and can only nod at Sam's muttered, "Good game, man." His elbow is throbbing. He needs to see a trainer. He fucked up and he knows it, he just doesn't know how bad it is. He hurries with the crowd, trying to stay in the middle and near the front, hoping to stay ahead of Bucky and make it to the training room before his catcher--partner--can get to him.

Between those thoughts and the pain, he's caught off-guard when someone grabs him just above the elbow. Pain shoots through him, momentarily blinding, and he bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. For a moment, he thinks it's Pym. Then he sees the flash of angry ice-blue eyes and his mouth goes dry.

"Word with you, Rogers?" It's not a question, Steve's not stupid enough to believe that it is, but Bucky phrases it as such. "Privately." He flexes his fingers around Steve's arm and drags him off into a side corridor.

Bucky slams him back against the concrete wall, arm across his upper chest. Steve tries to push off, but he can't get any leverage and he can't use his pitching arm. Bucky's arm slides up until it's across his throat. Steve knows he deserves this, but he's too stubborn, too proud, to just accept it.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Bucky slams him back against the wall once more for good measure.

Steve hides a wince. "I wanted to finish the game."

"Finish the..." Bucky's eyes widen briefly before narrowing. "This isn't the minors, Steve," he hisses. "This is your career. This is my career, too, you selfish asshat. You can't-- You can't do this. It matters now!"

"It mattered before."

Bucky slams him back again, this time hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. "Not like it does now! What am I supposed to do if you blow out your arm?"

"Your job?"

Bucky leans against him, hard, grinding his forearm against Steve's windpipe. "I know what my job is. You need to figure out what yours is."

"I throw the ball." He's having trouble breathing but he's not giving Bucky the satisfaction. "You catch it."

"Think that's funny? I've got something you can catch."

Steve's heart stops. "Bucky, no." Even as he says it, his cock twitches. They've kept their secret for years, all through college and the minors. Steve shakes his head, the edges of his vision going black. His lungs burn. Bucky can't do this to him, not here. Not now.

"Bucky, yes." Bucky looks up and down the hall, his arm on Steve's throat relaxing. Then he sees what he's looking for and his arm falls away. He fists a hand in the front of Steve's uniform and yanks. "Come on."

The closet is full of trainers' supplies. Steve smells Vaseline and antiseptic and cotton as soon as Bucky opens the door and shoves him in. He cradles his injured arm against his side, shaking his head in the darkness. Bucky shuts the door behind them.

"Not here, Bucky. You're mad, I deserve it, that's fine. I'll take it. But you wait until we get home. Not here."

"Nope." Bucky advances on him, and Steve wishes his dick wasn't already at half-staff and rising. "You don't get to make any decisions now."

Steve backs up until there's a shelf digging into his upper back and another at his hips. Fear--of being discovered, mostly, and of Bucky hurting him more than he's already hurt--has him swallowing hard, has his cock pressing insistently against his cup. "Bucky, this isn't the same as--"

"The same as what? Not sitting the fuck down when you're done? Yes it is. This could end our career just as fast." He snags something from a shelf as he passes and comes to a halt right in front of Steve, bodies brushing. "How's your arm?"

"I need to see--"

"I bet you do." Bucky hooks fingers into Steve's belt. "How bad?"

Steve doesn't say anything.

Bucky grunts. "Good. Maybe you'll remember this the next time you're hurting in the fifth inning." He tugs at his belt. "Drop 'em, turn around, and spread 'em, Rogers."

Steve sets his jaw. He can't see Bucky's face clearly in the dim light edging around the door, but he can imagine his expression. His chest is tight, his skin warmed, and he hates that this is his reaction to the threat of punishment in public. "You're not going to stop, are you?"

"They're gonna give you painkillers. I'm gonna give you another reason to need them."

Steve shuts his eyes. "I hate when you're like this." He can't tell if he means it or if he's playing the game, and he likes the thrill of pleasure that shoots down his spine and into his balls.

"Really?" Bucky shoves his hand down the front of Steve's pants and wraps his sweaty fingers around his hard cock. "I don't believe you."

Steve doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say. His dick swells, harder, and throbs in Bucky's hand. His breath comes faster. Pain and lust are making him light-headed, dizzy. His defenses are gone.

He opens his belt one-handed and shoves the pants down to his knees. He pulls away from Bucky and turns, one hand braced on the shelf in front of him. He spreads his feet apart and leans forward.

"You're such a romantic, Steve." Bucky strokes fingertips from the top of Steve's thigh over the curve of his ass and up. He digs the heel of his palm into the center of Steve's back and shoves.

Steve reaches out with his right hand. Pain shoots from his wrist to his shoulder and he cries out. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes and breathes hard through his nose.

"Don't make me gag you," Bucky murmurs. He rips the lid off of the small tub of Vaseline.

"Hurry up," Steve grits out. His head is swimming.

He hears Bucky open his belt, hears the slick sound of Bucky's fingers in the Vaseline. Then the jar clatters to the shelf at Steve's wrist, and Bucky's fingers delve into the furrow of his ass, tips sliding straight to his hole.

"You're so fucking selfish," Bucky murmurs. He circles those slick fingertips around and around and around, then shoves one finger in all the way to the second knuckle.

Steve moans, half-pained, half-pleasured.

"You were done in the fifth. You were  _done_. You think I didn't see that? I told you to go. You should have let Sam come in."

Bucky pumps two fingers into him, twice, twisting and scissoring. It burns, it aches, but Steve says nothing. He bites the inside of his mouth and he bears down and he takes it. Bucky pulls his fingers away, dips them again into the Vaseline. Steve shuts his eyes, breathes out. He listens to Bucky, his harsh breathing, the rustle of clothing.

"You gotta let me do my job, Steve."

The blunt slick head of Bucky's cock is against him. He holds his breath. Bucky shoves in deep, one stroke.

Steve chokes on his moan.

Hands on Steve's hips, Bucky moves, grunting each time he thrusts in.

"You have to let me do my job. I can't keep you safe if you don't listen to me. We can't win of you don't listen to me. You got nothing to prove, Steve. We're in, we're here. We made it. Let me do my job. You do what I tell you to do. You want the Cy Young this year?" Bucky slams in sharp and deep, drawing a gasp from Steve. "Listen to me. We'll get you there." He presses his face to Steve's shoulder, lips hot, breath damp through the thick cotton of the jersey. "Don't hurt yourself, Steve. You can't. I can't play without you. I don't want to."

Steve shifts his weight. The pressure has built in his balls, sharpened each time Bucky rocks in just right. He rests his forehead against the edge of the shelf in front of him. He reaches down with his good hand. Bucky bats it away.

"Mine." He shoves his hand into the front of the jock and wraps his fingers around Steve's cock. He squeezes hard. "Mine." He strokes in time with his thrusts.

_Yours,_  Steve thinks, and bites the insides of his mouth as he comes, as Bucky fucks in deep, coming hard inside him.

Bucky sighs. "You're gonna be out for at least a week." He shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, Steve, I hope you didn't tear anything."

"I don't think I did." He hopes.

Bucky pulls out of him, still half-hard. He lifts, kissing up the back of Steve's neck and into his sweaty hair, one hand resting on Steve's hip to brace himself, the other tucking his softening cock back into his pants. Steve turns, and Bucky's lips are there, warm and soft, and Bucky kisses him. Then he pulls away.

"Come on." He pokes a finger at Steve's bare ass. "I need a shower. You need to get your arm looked at."

Steve pulls his pants up, turning. "I'm sorry," he says.

Bucky sighs. "Don't. Just don't. Just don't do it again."

Steve doesn't promise anything.


End file.
